Truths
by grieverwings
Summary: When our favorite characters are left alone with their thoughts, what could possibly be running through their minds? Do they think about their journey, their mission... perhaps each other? Six seperate drabbles from each character's point of view.
1. Style

Truths: _Style_

"_**Style is being run out of town and making it look like you're leading a parade."**_

**Balthier**

"Watch for trouble," Balthier warned, doing his best to look noncommittal. Fran put a hand on the wall as she left, half-turning to face him. He raised an eyebrow in return.

"You'll be all right?" she asked, long ears twitching. Gesturing grandly, he crossed his legs and folded his arms.

"Fran, please. We'll be fine, upstanding gentlemen as we are. I'm sure I could squeeze a lovely conversation from either of our houseguests. Find us a way out quickly – I'd rather my clothes didn't reek of death." He could have sworn Fran rolled her eyes as she left the little antechamber. For a moment his eyes followed her down the stone hallway, but with a sigh he shot Vaan a disparaging look.

The boy was sprawled on the ground, where the soldier had thrown him. They had been kind enough to arrange his limbs into more… agreeable positions, but not once had he moved. The knock to the head had lasted him all through the journey to Nalbina, and all the way down to the bottom of Nalbina Fortress. There were flecks of blood on his cheeks, probably by now dried, and sand dusted his body. Balthier felt a little sorry for him, especially with the way he had been shaking and moaning from nightmare or another. Still, it was not his job to be a babysitter.

"Look at you," he said. "Between you and our other guest, he's the life of the party." As though affronted, a few of Vaan's fingers moved before settling down again. Foolish boy, he thought with a bit of a sneer. He couldn't be less than sixteen, but the faces he made and the way he acted placed his age at about five. How Vaan had obtained his blonde little girlfriend, he would never guess.

Balthier couldn't contain a smirk now. The thief's girl had so easily been sidetracked from her noble quest to save Vaan with a handsome face (he didn't flatter himself – it was just a fact) and a handkerchief. Two peas in a pod, he chuckled. Still, he'd rather get his handkerchief blemish-free, which wasn't going to happen if they didn't break out soon. Surely Fran's exceptional nose would be able to sniff something out.

Speaking of which, he thought, getting a whiff of his sleeves. He would need new cuffs, just as he had thought. Ah, how the trials of this night seemed to be piling up.

There was a sudden flash of orange from one of Vaan's pockets, catching Balthier's attention. "Strange," he said to himself. He was sure the flash came from that stone Vaan had taken from the palace, but he couldn't see how the soldiers had missed it. It would be, he thought with a bit of a sigh, so easy to just take it now. Despite that tantalizing thought, it really didn't matter to Balthier anymore. After getting into all this trouble, he couldn't care less what Vaan did with it.

"All I want now," he said to himself, "is a good meal, a change of clothes, and a hot bath." Almost sardonically, he looked down a little past Vaan and raised an eyebrow. "What about you? What is it you could possibly want?"

He never expected it to answer. Rather, he took the silence to study their companion, white with age or decay he would never know. The Bangaa's eyes were still open, gazing out blearily towards the ceiling. With the milky whiteness of it, he would say the poor fellow had lost his sight long before his death. Who knew how long the corpse had been down here. Knowing the Archadians, it could have been years since he had been thrown in to die and forgotten. Cleanliness had never occurred to them, even in the form of picking up those who had died and disposing of them in a sanitary place.

Rather, the dirtier everything was, perhaps the faster their prisoners would off it. Less trouble for them.

Those milky eyes stared while Balthier took a drink from the leather pouch off his waist. He tried to take only enough to cool his throat, knowing full well that it would need to last them for a while. There would be no refills, either – he had seen that water in the basin outside. It had been tainted brown from filth or blood, and from the way a Bangaa had been slurping at it while its muzzle bled, he was like to say the latter. In short, they weren't taking any chances.

"Don't look at me that way," Balthier said to the corpse in a bored tone. "You're already dead – at least you've hit rock bottom. I still have a ways to go."

The sound of shuffling drew his attention, and in a flash his hand went for his gun. When his fingers grappled at his empty holster, he cursed loudly. He had forgotten that they were stripped of their belongings beforehand. After a moment, he saw it didn't matter. Moving slowly past the room's entrance was a broken man, broken from the shackles thicker than a Seeq's neck around his hands and neck. Balthier stifled a sigh of relief and relaxed again. Had it been anyone else, he would have been in trouble.

Briefly, the man glanced his way before he left, curiosity obvious. When their eyes met, he almost jumped, turning away quickly and shuffling a little faster. The prisoners here had been taught not to make eye contact, and their decrepit, hopeless state saddened Balthier a little. The men he had seen on the way in looked just the same.

Funny thing, Balthier thought with a raised eyebrow. Now that he thought about it, he was almost positive Fran was the only woman he had seen in Nalbina Prison. There had been none at all on the way in – were they kept separately? If so, why hadn't Fran been put with them? No, he was sure – there were no women. Some form of Archadian chivalry – the thought was laughable. Even so, he never really knew: there were Bangaa everywhere, and he had never been able to tell with them.

Fran… the Viera had a spark in her yet, but Balthier couldn't help but be a little worried. No doubt she could hold off a few burly yet stupid Seeq, strong enough with a weapon or without. Archadian soldiers, however, or even a judge would be too much for her to face alone. He could only hope she found them a way out quickly, and without being noticed. The sooner, the better.

From the ceiling fell a little trickle of sand, no doubt from the desert above. It pooled beside Vaan's face, and peering a little closer, he saw that Vaan's eyes were open. "You're awake," he said. The thief looked his way quickly, confusion in his eyes. It was about time he stirred, Balthier thought with a little bit of a smirk.

"Where are we?" Vaan asked. Balthier sighed and shrugged, leaning forward.

"Prison, where else? More a dungeon, but it's really all the same." Vaan slowly stood, holding the back of his head – where the soldier had hit him. For a moment, pity etched Balthier's typical glance, but it dissipated quickly.

Cries of pain – of torture – echoed through the entire dungeon, and Vaan seemed to lose his grip. Stumbling backwards, fear shining in his huge eyes, he trod upon the fingers of the Bangaa corpse before Balthier could think to warn him. His eyes got even bigger, if that was possible.

"Relax, it's just a corpse," he said, shaking his head. "Jump at every little thing down here and you'll wear yourself out." Sudden exhaustion seized Balthier, forcing him to yawn languidly. "It's not even a proper dungeon. They just sealed off the bottom level of the fortress. Take a look around. We're not the first they've thrown down here." Balthier began to stretch, confused by how tired he had become so quickly. It was a wonder.

"Where's Fran?" he asked.

"She's off trying to find us a way out." The look on his face surely betrayed his underlying worry. Fran had been gone too long – anything could have happened by now. She had found them many an escape route within a few minutes. Another tortured scream drew his attention away from his thoughts, and with a grunt Balthier stood up. "Remember what curiosity killed. Just a friendly word of advice."

Vaan began to turn away, his short attention span already pulling him elsewhere. Holding up the pouch of water, he raised his voice so that the thief would be sure to hear him. "This is all the water we've got. I'd save your strength if I were you." Vaan waved a hand, still barely attending, and drifted away. Balthier smirked. Ever the same.

With a bit of a sigh, he tucked the pouch back into its place and sat again, putting a fist on his chin. "Alone at last," he said dully to the Bangaa. "Fran's beginning to make me nervous." Why hadn't she come back? They had been partners for how long now, and she had always been able to get them out of any situation when he (rarely) couldn't. But was it just nervousness at needing to leave? No, he almost – just almost – was able to admit to himself that he missed her.

Trying to retain another yawn, he let his head sit heavy on his fist, eyes drooping. "Got to keep a sharp eye out," he told the dead Bangaa. "I doubt our fellow prisoners have the energy to come in and do anything drastic, but those Archadians have always been tricky." It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. Yawns kept coming, and his eyes continued to fall.

Finally, he gave in. When did a nap hurt anyone, he reasoned. He had always been a light sleeper anyway. Besides, he reasoned, stretching his arms and locking his fingers behind his head, what could go wrong? What could possibly make this situation any worse than it already was?


	2. Masking Tape

Truths: _Masking Tape_

_**"Love isn't as painful as masking tape."**_

**Basch**

"Compensation – is that what you want?" Basch turned to look at Balthier, they all did. He merely smirked and took a step closer to Ashe, greediness glinting in his eyes. In all respects, Basch liked Balthier enough. He was a gentleman when he chose to be, and had been a useful ally this past while. Regardless, he could not deny that the man was a sky pirate – he should not be surprised by that look. That did not keep him from hating it.

"Straight to the point, aren't we? I like that." Brief revulsion stretched across Ashe's face – it was obvious she did not like his tone. To be matter of fact, Basch wasn't fond of it, either. "Compensation? How about the ring?"

"This?" There was panic in her voice, and her right hand flew to touch it as though shielding it from his stare. "Isn't there something else?"

"No one's forcing you," he said, holding out his hand. There was a stagnant silence in the room, and Basch wondered if everyone else was praying that Ashe would decline. Did Balthier realize what he was asking for? Did he understand what that ring meant to Ashe? He almost had to use all his concentration to keep himself in the same place, with the same expression on his face.

Still, he couldn't help a curl of his lip as Ashe took off her ring and set it on his palm. He looked at it for a moment before closing his fist, tucking it away somewhere. Basch didn't see. He only had eyes for the princess.

"I'll give it back to you," he said lightly, as if it was of no consequence. "As soon as I find something more valuable." The rest of the conversation, he missed. There wasn't much else said, but he had lost himself, looking at that now bare finger. Anger bubbled up inside him, an anger he couldn't really explain. For a moment, he passed it off as righteous anger from a knight's standpoint – that was Dalmascan property he had just pocketed, considered a royal jewel.

Basch couldn't delude himself like that for long, and he was left to consider a new idea as he followed Ashe out the door into the Muthru Bazaar. The others hung back for a moment, but after just a second Balthier practically strutted down the steps and came to stand beside him. It took a lot of will power to look at him normally, and when Vaan appeared at the top of the steps, he bluntly rattled off some information about Kerwon before Balthier took over. Once they had finished, he beckoned Fran, and they were off, perhaps to the Sandsea. Penelo took Vaan's hand and dragged him away, saying something about a "Migelo". That left Ashe, still looking distant, and himself.

Basch was used to being the man in the background: silent, tough, and always listening. For the most part, he never minded, either. One gained quite a bit of information by staying quiet, and he was usually content to watch from afar. He knew Ashe or any of the others would approach him should they need his help, or any advice. Being a knight meant that you were all muscle and no voice, doing your duty without complaint.

Now, seeing the sad look on her face, more than ever Basch wanted to lash out and punch something.

Stress had been piling on top of him the past few days – first it had been being arrested for the third time in a while, then he had been forced to face down his once-best friend and be a hand in his death. It still weighed heavy on him, ate at him in a way most terrible. He could not forget the years they had spent together in service to Dalmasca, to King Raminas, to Princess Ashe. Many had said that there had never been a more deadly team, a more loyal pair of friends.

As much as it pained him to admit it, there had been a gap between them when Vossler had died. When they had been reunited, Basch had not exactly expected to be welcomed with open arms. He knew Dalmasca pictured him a traitor, a king-slayer, and he had not expected Vossler to see him any differently. For a while after, however, he had been able to trick himself into thinking things would be exactly the same as when he had been taken away.

However, Basch was not stupid. He had caught the way Vossler had talked to her, the way she was willing to drop any argument at his whim. He had seen the way he glanced at her, and the way she had looked back. He had recognized the way she stood, how she clasped her hands, the way she stared up at his face. Having known them both for many years, Ashe since she was a girl, he could hazard a guess at what they had both been feeling. Now that Vossler was dead, he could never be sure, but he was positive that he had loved her. Not only that, but regardless of how she may deny it, he was equally as positive that Ashe loved him back.

Even though he regretted Vossler's death, and would never be at ease with it, he couldn't help feel some sick kind of satisfied. Though his friend was dead and gone, his jealousy still lingered. Having once been able to pry a smile off the young Ashe's face with just his presence, he couldn't help but feel replaced.

Now, Vossler was sadly forgotten. His anger was directed solely at Balthier, though he hoped it would fade later. The gods knew how hard it had been to maintain a straight face while he watched Ashe remove perhaps her most precious possession and hand it to a pirate. There was no doubt that he was a man of his word, and a shade away from being friend to them all, but at the moment Basch loathed everything about him. He was sure neither he nor the princess had believed his promise to return it.

Looking lost in her thoughts, Ashe slowly began walking through the bazaar, Basch quickly at her heels. People jostled around them, but he managed to stay just behind her right shoulder, and even over the murmurs and shouts of the crowds, he heard her sigh. She walked slowly, and he waited until he caught up in just a step to speak.

"Balthier has been truthful thus far," he said, catching her attention. She continued to rub her finger absent-mindedly, not looking at him.

"I know very well that neither of us trust him with this particular promise." So she had seen. He had to withhold a chuckle – she was more observant than many of them gave her credit for. Still, despite the fact that she was right, he had to remain optimistic – if only for her sake.

"We can hope." The little smile she gave him made his heart lurch unexpectedly, and he had to swallow the rushing feeling before words he would regret could spill from his lips.

How much she had grown in the two years since his imprisonment. He could remember when she was barely thirteen, headstrong in a way sometimes irritating. That aspect, he was happy to note, had not changed, but after Rasler's death she had grown abnormally soft-spoken and mild. Now, she had made the switch from a widowed princess to a spitfire warrior queen, a change her father would have been proud of and a change he was sad to have missed.

When they had met again on the Leviathan, he had been completely surprised. All he had been able to manage was a slightly breathless "Majesty" – he was face-to-face with, not a girl, but a woman, and her slap had proved it. Through their travels, he slowly came to like her new personality more and more, until he realized – a moment too late – that his admiration had gone too far. What was more, scandalous and shameful, he realized that he did not quite care.

He knew he should have been rejecting every pang of his battle-worn heart, avoiding his thoughts like a plague, but in the Dynast-King's tomb he had realized something. By now, Basch was convinced, and all he could do was give up lying to himself. Though it was a disservice to not only Lord Rasler's memory, but to King Raminas and Dalmasca itself, and it went against everything he believed in as a knight… Basch was beyond a suppositive stage, a what-if mindset. He loved her.

"I cannot help but think we did something wrong," Ashe was saying. "There may have been something we could do." Again, Basch had to call for his best straight face. For that moment, he had forgotten.

"There is little that would have saved him," he said. "Vossler was a good man, and his devotion to…" She looked at him. It wasn't often that he stumbled. "…His devotion to Dalmasca was unending. However, how could we have been able to trust him again?" Now, Ashe's look turned to that of surprised. Basch knew he was being blunt. "There would always have been doubt."

"Doubt that would only weaken the resistance." It was obvious that she agreed with him, but after saying this Ashe fell into a deeper silence than before. Silently letting out a breath that could be classified as a sigh, Basch joined her in that quiet. As they meandered through Rabanastre with a sort of aimless air, he let his thoughts carry him away. He did not doubt himself when it came to his resilience, and regardless of whether or not she returned his feelings – ever – he would continue to serve and protect his queen. After all, with first Rasler's death, then Vossler's, he couldn't say he would blame her for staying distant from any sorts of relationships for a long time.


	3. War

Truths: _War_

_**"War isn't about dying for your country; it's about making the other bastard die for his."**_

**Ashe**

"So I ran. Free at last. Funny how I went for the Dawn Shard. How could I have known that it was nethicite?" The look in Balthier's eyes was far away, perhaps miles up in the air and soaring on the Strahl. Freedom… was that his idea of freedom? Stealing his way into royal palaces and intending to take something of such worth to Dalmasca for his own personal gain – but then, Ashe had always loved her father. She probably would not understand what it felt like when you needed to escape from your own blood. All the blood ties she'd had were gone.

"And then, of course, I met you." She turned and looked at him again, out of surprise. He was being perfectly honest, something none of them had seen. Ashe had to wonder – had Fran known this whole time? He certainly couldn't have kept it from her; they were too close for that. "All that running, and I got nowhere. It's time to end this – cut ties to the past." Ashe frowned, shifting her hand only slightly to touch her ring finger. He didn't seem to notice, too busy staring out at the wide-open skies and taking in the salty sea air.

"It's hard to leave the past behind, I know." Indeed, these past two years up to not very long ago, she had been struggling to do that very thing. At first, she was trying to reconcile herself with Rasler's death, something that had shattered her in barely a heartbeat. Though their marriage had been for political reasons, neither of them had been able to deny that they loved each other. Rasler had even admitted once that he was tired of their relationship being seen as convenience. They had been so ready to play the roles, to gladly put on the masks and join in the cascading dance that was politics. Nabradia and Dalmasca had both been watching with hopeful eyes, praying their prince and princess would bring peace.

When Basch had brought back his body, the lifeless carcass that had once been her husband, Ashe suddenly forgot her role. Without her partner, the dance crashed to a halt, leaving her standing alone. There was no more Nabradia – she and her prince had fallen to Archades. Not long after that, her father, in hopes of peace, traveled to Nabudis to sign what he thought was a peace treaty. There… it happened. What went down in history as the day a traitor was made, the day a kingdom was destroyed, was all witnessed through the eyes of a boy – about Ashe's age, to be precise.

Vaan's brother – Reks.

Piled atop the sorrow that came at losing her husband, the man she was growing to love more and more, she lost her father as well – to the man she had once considered her friend and protector. Fueled by anger, she and Vossler created an elaborate scheme to fake her death, thus allowing her to escape. All they spoke of was building the resistance, creating a force strong enough to take on Archades and make them pay for what they did to Dalmasca. However, what was predominant on both of their minds for a time was something else entirely.

What they both wanted, his reported death or not, was to run their blade through the former Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg's body and see anguish on his face, for the anguish he caused Dalmasca – and, more personally, for the anguish he caused them. An eye for an eye, a life for a life, if you will.

When they had met on the Leviathan, so many emotions had budded up inside of Ashe that she had not quite known how to deal with them. There he stood, the kingslayer, the _father_-slayer, the _kingdom_-slayer, and he had the audacity to call her "Majesty". He stood there, a little smile on his face, relief in his eyes. Never mind the nasty scars she could see on his face and shoulders, he had the gall to look her right in the face and smile the way he had when she was younger. Basch himself, presumed dead for two years (though, really, the public thought was that she had committed suicide), had the very _balls _to stand there and look _handsome_, of all things.

Perhaps that was why she had slapped him, a move even she didn't quite understand. It infuriated her that he seemed to think there would be no change between them. She had wished that he would make a sound, or grimace, or even fight back a little. How she would have relished being able to fight the man who had ruined her life. Yet, all he did was stand there, taking her insults and remaining passive – when she slapped him, there was no resistance. He merely let it happen, as though he felt he deserved every bit of abuse she could hurl at him.

It had been long since she accepted the deaths of her father and husband, leaving her widow and orphan within the space of a week. Seeing Basch, her former captain, her once friend, had ripped open those wounds anew, and even when Vossler accepted him and they became friends again, she was still holding onto her hate.

Slowly, she began to expose herself more and more to Basch's company, and it truly did feel as though she was a young girl again. His smile was still the same, and his maddening way of acting like she would shatter like glass did a fiend rough her too much. Every time a stray paw would swipe its way across her body, it was he who would take her arm and administer the curative, using the utmost gentleness. It took a while, but that anger faded to something else… she saw that he could have never killed her father. His loyalty to her, and to Dalmasca, was too strong.

Vossler, however, quickly replaced the hatred that had left her heart at last. In betraying them to the Empire, he once more ripped a hole in her ability to trust, and she seethed with anger at him. When they faced him before they left, hearing him accuse them of being sky pirates sent a fire through her blood and made her only too glad to take up her sword against him. The biting fury with which their swords collided sent such reverberations through her arms sweet as honey, and she allowed the warrior inside her take over and fight to kill. It had not been her to take him down, however – it had been Basch who drove his sword into Vossler only the slightest.

When Basch pulled back, blood from the wound and blood on the sword dripped to the ground simultaneously, and the berserk state her mind had been in crashed to a halt. Everyone backed away, and alone she stood, seeing one of her captains standing over the other in victory. At first, she could not stop the rushing thought that another man had been slain by his hand (he was her _friend_), but then she saw. Though Vossler crouched on the ground, struggling for breath, blood poured from his upper thigh. Basch had struck a non-lethal spot.

At first, when the alarms went off, she heeded Balthier's initial statement that the ship was going to explode, and joined the others in the mad dash for the Strahl. Before she had quite reached the doors, she stopped and turned, looking back. Vossler… her closest companion for two years. Could he walk? Would he be able to save himself?

No… this was goodbye.

It wasn't until later that Basch moved further back into the Strahl, eyes scanning the walls. Ashe joined him momentarily, more to get away from the others than anything else, and when she stepped into the room he had caught sight of an oily rag. Picking it up, he unsheathed his blade slowly, and they both stared at the blood – still a deadly bright-red.

"You risk doing damage to your sword that way," she warned, seeing him take the rag to the sword. Basch did not look at her, and instead watched as the black stains of oil began to mingle with blood.

"Better to let it rust and fall to pieces than stain it with the blood of a friend."

After that moment, she forgave him. Ashe forgave him for everything, for every crime she thought he had committed, for everything he might have done. She forgave him for leaving her comrade to die, while at the same time she sought her own forgiveness – it was not just he who had left Vossler behind. She wanted to apologize for the slap, for every harsh word, for all the times she had given him a dirty look. As her throat did not seem to want to accommodate the words, she merely gave him an imploring look.

Setting the rag back where it was, the sword clean of blood, he sheathed it again and looked at her a moment. Their eyes locked, she caught sight of the red, angry scar over his eye and felt like she would shed a tear. Instead, he gave her another one of his smiles and placed his hand on her shoulder. His hand was heavy, and the warmth of his flesh heated her skin chilled from fear, excitement, and sorrow. Without needing to exchange a word, she knew he forgave her, and he moved back into the cockpit.

Was that when her heart had suddenly decided that she was enamored of him?

"The choice is yours to make. But don't give your heart to a stone. You're too strong for that, Princess." Ashe started a little – she had forgotten that she was speaking with Balthier. Looking over at him, she thought about what he said… giving her heart to a stone. She could see why he was concerned – they had seen what nethicite did to Judge Bergan. However, was she as strong as he thought? After all, while she hadn't come to such terms with the Dawn Shard, she felt strong connections to something else.

"…I pray you're right, Balthier."

Did it make her any weaker to admit that, without her realizing it, she had already given her heart to a knight?


	4. Chains

Truths: _Chains_

_**"It is better to walk in chains with friends than in gardens with enemies."**_

**Fran**

"The jungle denies us our passage." Irritating, really. Now Fran would be forced to confront her long-avoided past. True, for the past fifty years she had been telling herself that she would scarce be able to avoid it, but… it did not make it any easier.

"What have we done?" Ashe asked, looking up at Fran. She stared blankly ahead; it was just like a Hume to assume they were the center of conflict. The jungle cared not about trivial matters of the outside world. Rather, it and its inhabitants were introverted to the point of idiocy.

"We? No. I." Without another word, she turned and walked away, head held high. If she had to go back, she would at least appear to have some shred of Viera dignity. Even if she hadn't known from memory where the entrance to the Wood was, she would have been able to smell it – wild and sweet after the long years among Hume stenches. Her feet guided her to it like a puppet on a string, and she despised herself while at the same time feeling anxious to once more look up at the sky from under Her boughs.

Vaan shouted after her, indignation clear in his voice. Fran began to stop and look back before Balthier fell into step beside her. To tell the truth, she had been somewhat expecting that.

"Making an appearance?" he asked lightly. Fran refused to look at him.

"I am."

"I thought you'd left for good." Was it sarcasm that permeated his voice, that suave, smug tone he most often possessed? No – Balthier was not so cruel. It was an honest statement, one that Fran had frankly believed herself once.

"Our choices are few." There was much unspoken between them – to help Ashe, to cure Balthier's insatiable curiosity and his fear, they had to press forward – they could not turn back now, as they were so thick with people that could very well throw them in jail without a shred of remorse. Behind, Vaan still shouted, upset at being ignored. Balthier looked ready to tell him off before she spoke again. "This is as much for you as it is for me."

"Oh?" Balthier asked, stopping on a step. Fran continued down the stairs before she looked back at him with her best piercing stare. He merely stared back. You would think, she thought with an almost amused air, that after so long of being partners he would come to understand her. Yet here she was, having to explain things to him like one would a child.

"You are ill at ease. The nethicite troubles you?" He made a face, and she could sense that he wondered how she knew. This time, she granted him scarcely seen smile, and chose against tinting her voice with sarcasm. She wanted him to know she was being serious. "You've let your eyes betray your heart." Turning, she walked to where the grass path seemed to cut off, hearing Balthier sigh a defeated: "Right."

Her smile grew a second more before fading away, and she held out her hand to touch the invisible barrier before her. It seemed to resist her touch, as though it knew whose fingers asked it to grant access. Still, Fran ignored the thought, and continued the silent spell that unlocked her former home. Tensing a little, knowing it was too late to turn back now, she put her fingers to her lips and blew, hoping that in a moment Eryut Village would reveal itself to them.

"What're you doing?" Vaan asked her, ever questioning. Fran gave him a look, compassionate and telling him to shut up all at once.

"Soon you will learn." In front of them, she heard the Wood whisper, and relief flooded through her heart. The Wood still recognized her as a Viera after all this time. She had half expected the path would not appear, but even after fifty years… perhaps it was Mjrn's work. Green grass stretched ahead, and it sprayed the scent of flowers and exotic fruit over them. Fran's nose picked up the smell, and she reveled in it, though the others seemed to notice no change. While she would never miss the way the Wood worked, the governing they had been put through, she would always miss the sights and smells.

"We go to seek the aid of the Viera who dwell ahead," she said, trying to remain impassive. Fran would not go in far – only far enough to take enough of the sights and smells to last her another fifty years.

"I bet they'll be glad," Penelo said, looking at Fran hopefully, "to see you after so long." Fran sighed a little. She was a sweet little Hume, but clueless at times.

"I am unwelcome. An unsought guest in their wood." Trying to ignore their confused stares, not to mention the piercing look she could feel coming from Balthier, she stepped forward. The sound of heels, boots, and sandals crunching on the grass was welcome to her – every step sent up a new cloud of memories, memories of the afternoon sun, of the cooling spring, of the whispers of trees. The scents got stronger, and her uneasiness with it, as they finally passed under the last growth of jungle trees and were basked in the light from Eruyt Village.

When she stopped, Vaan looked back at her in confusion. Fran merely shook her head.

"In the village ahead you will find her. Mjrn. Bring her to me. She will know why you call her." He nodded, innocent Hume eyes wide as he tried to give her a reassuring look. Fran nodded in response, and he took off at a little jog to catch up with the others. This left her, alone, in the home she had rejected fifty years ago yet still tasted like it had been yesterday. The Wood seemed to smile upon her if only for a moment, perhaps pitying the child that no longer experienced Her joy day after day, and she heard a gentle whispering against her sensitive ears. For a moment, Fran was able to make herself forget that she no longer could understand what it said.

The wind seemed to call attention to the way Balthier had made a face at her just moments before, incredulous at being told that she could read his emotions so easily. For years, ever since he had abandoned being a Judge at the tender age of 16 and stolen off with her and the Strahl, they'd had unspoken rules that defined the way things worked with them. He would make situations lighter, trying his best to bring a smile to her face, and she would keep the situation grounded, attempting to calm the easily excited teenager that still dwelled within him. This elite form of partnership had existed without a hitch for some time now, and he had grown accustomed to the fact that she was clueless to the subtle art of flattery, and she accepted that he could not stand to be tied down to anything.

As of late, there seemed to have been a switch in their… what could she call it… relationship? A touchy word for the Humes. It always seemed to imply there being something more than the typical platonic emotions between two people, and she had long ago understood that their 'relationship' was limited to casual flirting and the occasional lewd remark from Balthier. Either way, after the… incident… on the airship Shiva, they both realized that this change had been growing and festering for some time – it had just chosen the most inconvenient (and yet oddly convenient) time to crop up and slap them in the face.

Rather than her needing to calm him down, to ease his wild emotions that often rushed to a head when his father was mentioned, he had been the one to heft her arm over his shoulder and help her back to the Strahl, speaking to her quietly so that he might ease the disquiet Mist had caused within her. It was later that he confronted her, refusing to leave until she answered his every question about her well-being, and he had even forbidden her from using Quickenings for a time. An odder nursemaid she had never seen, Fran thought with a small smile.

And yet, that was just it. Not very long ago, she had even smiled at him – something Fran couldn't recall doing seriously in a while. She let herself be the butt of a few jokes, and even made a few dry and mostly unnoticed jokes herself. While he was beginning to become more supportive, she felt herself needing more and more to make him smile – not smirk, not sneer, and not just the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. Fran wanted to make sure Balthier gave her a genuine smile, the sort no one saw on his usually sardonic face.

Then again, Fran thought with a little bit of a frown, it could just be her thoughts running away with her. It was about time Balthier began to shoulder some of the responsibilities other than plundering and thieving young girls' hearts for the sake of amusement (or perhaps by accident, but she never waited to find out). He seemed to be accepting the role that had been laid out for him, and by now he seemed to have realized that following Ashe would lead him straight to his father once more. Whether or not he was ready, he still followed, and still graced their ragtag group with his witty observances and his skill with the weapons. He was no longer running, and Fran was grateful for that. Perhaps they could feed off each other's strength – if he could have the courage to face his past, she ought to at least be strong enough to stand in her old home and listen to the Wood a last time.

Her voice was frantic, catching Fran's attention. Had she been so lost in thought that the Wood had to shout that loudly to be heard? Didn't She know that Fran couldn't hear her anyway?

"Mjrn… unrest… left… west… Jote…"

Her euphoria at being able to understand even this little bit was squashed in the sudden realization of what it meant. Mjrn was gone – and she could not decipher where it was she could have possibly gone. Her only clue was west, and her other sister's name – Jote. Fear of her former companions, former sisters, was gone, and she heard the click of her heels against wood before she realized that she was even walking. Mjrn had to be found, and it wasn't a matter of merely getting through to Mount Bur-Omisace. Now, it was a matter of finding her sister – and bringing her back to the Wood. Much as she liked the Hume world, much as she liked their customs, and much as she loved (liked?) her companion(s?), she would not let Mjrn leave. It was something she would regret forever.

Fran certainly did.


	5. Dancing

Truths: _Dancing_

_**"We're fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance."**_

**Penelo**

Thoughts and heart raced at an almost equal pace as Penelo let Larsa drag her along by the hand, wondering at the lack of soldiers on the airship. An alarm was blaring, surely the sign that there _should_ be some form of guard out and about, but she felt the young lord squeeze her hand tightly and her fears seemed to melt away. Despite the fact that he was several years younger than she, Larsa had a strange sort of maturity far beyond the limit of his age, the sort that made you feel… safe. Safe and secure, she thought with a nod, or as much as one could be while attempting a rescue mission on what was supposed to be the most heavily guarded ship in the Empire's eighth fleet.

Just how Larsa planned to get Vaan out, Penelo had yet to discover. She couldn't imagine him waltzing up to the guards and asking them to free the very scoundrels blamed for all the commotion at the Lord Consul's fete. Neither would it be logical to actually attempt a break-in, for as he had told her, the Leviathan was considered nigh impregnable. Although that hardly accounted for the fact that they had been able to just waltz in, Penelo hardly wished to test her luck.

Vaan… she could still remember when Larsa had explained that he was a prisoner. Her heart had sunk into her boots, making them heavy as lead, and she had despaired of ever seeing him again. It was hard enough to get through a day without him, without his smile, without his getting them into trouble every time she turned her back. Oh, she'd told him that crashing the fete was a bad idea, but if only she had been wrong! At that moment, she would have traded anything to get him back… and now, all she could think of was the lecture she'd give when they met face-to-face again. Teach him to get himself landed in jail and scare them all to death! She could have grown grey hairs overnight, with the way she'd worried, and her circumstances before Larsa had not made things any better. Being held hostage to attract a pirate she'd never even heard of helped to mount stress rather than relieve it.

"Penelo," Larsa said solemnly, stopping and letting go of her hand. He had a stern look on his face, one that would have looked better on his brother. It almost made her shiver to think. "Stay close to me, and don't make a sound. We proceed with caution." Curious, Penelo blinked a moment before it hit her: the flashing red lights had gone off, and the alarm had been silenced. Someone had turned it off.

They still ran, but with light footsteps rather than full-out sprinting. Larsa kept his hand at his waist, ready to draw his sword at a moment's notice. Penelo wondered whether or not he truly intended to fight anyone who barred his way. All she had was a flimsy dagger for protection, and a girl and a boy could never hope to bring down trained and fully-fledged soldiers on their own.

She could not breathe, not for running, but from the anticipation gnawing at her. Just a few moments longer, just a few more steps, and she'd be able to see that goofy smile again… could she wait those few moments? It felt as though she might burst, might explode into dozens of little pieces that her heart couldn't contain. They were almost there… almost there.

Larsa made a last-minute turn, grabbing her and pulling her along when she stumbled. Instead of the cramped hallways they'd been in so far, they had come into a wide-open room, and in confusion Penelo stopped. The sound of footsteps turned her head, and she gaped as a group of men (and two women) loped into the room. One of them was dressed as an Imperial, though he did not wear the helmet; another was the man who had given her a handkerchief when Vaan was arrested and his Viera partner. That must have meant…

"Vaan!" There he was, looking bewilderedly ecstatic to see her, and her plans of a lecture seemed to dissolve right out of her head. Penelo had forgotten just the way his nose turned up, and the sparkle in his eyes. She had forgotten how it felt to stand that close to him, and again she couldn't breathe, even though he was a good few feet away. Abandoning thought entirely, emotion seemed to swell up into her throat, and she threw herself at him.

Since they had been young, and especially after Vaan's parents and Reks had died, Penelo's parents had very seriously dropped obvious hints about the two of them, most of which set a fire to her cheeks and flew completely over Vaan's head. They had entirely believed that the pair had been made for each other, something that her brothers had set upon with equal (though perhaps for different reasons) enthusiasm. In spite of their constant pokes and prods, Vaan remained blissfully oblivious, and they were able to keep afloat as friends who acted more like an old married couple than anything else. Now, hugging him close for the first time in a long while, she couldn't help feeling something wriggling in the pit of her stomach… something she figured had been cultivating for a long time.

"It's okay. We're okay." His hand was on the back of her head, and she would have thankfully stopped time then and there, thriving in the protection she felt in being shielded from the world. Larsa had his own aura of calm, but this was different… if only it would never end.

Larsa watched them a moment, an odd expression on his face before he turned to look at the woman glaring defiantly at another person Penelo didn't recognize. "Ghis knows you've escaped. You must hurry." So that was why he had never brought up a method of escape. If only people found it necessary to explain things to her before the plan was carried out… it would be much easier that way, especially for Penelo. She hated finding things out last-minute.

With a sigh, Vaan let go and looked down at her curiously. He seemed to be inspecting for damage, as he walked around her in a little circle. Putting her hands on her hips, Penelo frowned at him when he stood in front of her again, barely able to stifle the smile fighting its way onto her face. Noticing it, he smiled back. It was so good to have him back again… she'd missed him. She'd _really_ missed him.

"Lady Ashe."

Now, _that_ caught her attention. In surprise, she turned to look at Larsa, seeing him looking at the woman again. She towered over him effectively, but despite that, he still had that same imposing power that made such a young boy so intimidating. He was ever Vayne's brother.

"By all rights, you ought not even to exist. That you and Captain Ronsenburg were made to appear dead… is like a hidden thread laid bare." Could he really be talking to the one and only Princess Ashe, considered dead by all of Dalmasca – by all the world for two years? Was that strange man who refused to take his eyes off the supposed princess actually the kingslayer, Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg? When Penelo looked back at Vaan in utter confusion, he shrugged as though to say 'what?' Obviously, he had grown accustomed to the strange group of people he'd decided to roam with.

Sky pirates, headhunter Bangaa, sons of emperors, and now dead princesses and knights come back to life. By now, almost nothing would surprise Penelo. She almost wished for the boring, unconventional life of a sometimes dancer, sometimes errand-runner again.

"Your actions hereafter will pull at that thread, and we will see what it unravels. This is our chance. We must see this through, and get to the bottom of it. I believe… 'tis for the good of Dalmasca, and the good of the Empire." Penelo watched him with an almost fondness, having grown attached to the boy after spending so much time with him. It was almost like having her brothers back, though admittedly Larsa had never attempted to tackle her to the floor or picked on her. She would be sorry to see him go… but just as glad to have Vaan back again. Larsa would be missed, but Penelo would not have been able to last much longer without Vaan. She saw that now. "Penelo, for you."

Penelo blinked in surprise, looking down and seeing the young lord holding out his hand. Inside it, she saw what looked to be a little blue glass glowing, and before she could say a word he put it into her hand. In the corner of her eye, Vaan made a face in recognition, and the handkerchief man's eyebrows knitted together. Still, all she could do was take it, and she held it close like it would break if she dropped it. "May it bring you good fortune."

"Thanks." The two groups parted ways, the false Imperial now accompanying Larsa for (typically) unknown reasons. Introductions were made, names were given, and Vaan pestered her with unending questions about her welfare. Things seemed back to normal, normal as things could be what with tagging behind a warrior princess, her knight, and sky pirates. Still, the strange feeling in her stomach from the Leviathan never did see fit to leave. It stayed, it festered, it ate at her, and it wasn't until she finally permitted it to stay that it gave her rest.

Suddenly, her parents' suggestions didn't seem so far-fetched after all.


End file.
